The Spy and The Informant
by JustKeepOnTheGrass
Summary: "Do you sleep with all your female informants?" she asks, but Cassian pretends not to hear and he doesn't pause on his way out. - What Cassian does before he searches for 'Lianna Hallik'. [Part 1 in the 'you hold nothing but the sun' series.]


_**Author's Note:** This story is the first in a series called 'you hold nothing but the sun' in which Jyn and Cassian do not cross paths while the Alliance searches for Lianna Hallik. But in many ways, it feels like they do. _

* * *

Cassian hates this place. It is always crowded (exceptionally so). Always heaving, teeming with bodies: low ranking Imperial officers looking for a good time, aliens with sketchy eyes which roam the room, down-trodden criminals squeezed onto tiny chairs who are trying to make a few deals to save their own backsides. And most frustratingly, droids are not allowed in; Kay-too has to stand guard and wait for him outside.

Cassian strips off his pilot jacket; the heat of the cantina makes it unbearable for him to keep it on. He dodges a few drunken revellers and makes his way to the bar. He spots her immediately. Tall, dark, with a smile that draws all the customers to the counter. She is laughing at something one of them has said - a middle aged officer, smarmy to every inch of his life. But she pours him his drink, playfully drags a soft hand over his cheek. Then, she turns and sees Cassian. The smile drops, although only slightly.

Cassian takes an empty seat. A few seconds later, she comes to him.

"Hello, Heera," he says.

She puts on her flirtatious smile again.

"I thought you were dead. How long has it been? What - a year?"

"Ten months."

He is pretty sure she knows too, but pretends she doesn't.

"What brings you here?"

"The same."

She pours him a drink without him asking. He takes it and offers a thin smile in gratitude.

"You look the same," she says. She is no longer smiling. He notices the hurt that dances behind her eyes.

"You too."

She attempts the smile again. "Miss me?"

He does not answer and takes a drink instead.

* * *

He ends up in her bed like they both knew he would. Like he has intended to, if he were to be honest with himself. But spies are anything but honest, he thinks.

Afterwards, she wants him to stay, like always; her fingers trail across his chest, his arm, gripping at his fingers. He shrugs them off and sits up on the bed.

"Are you leaving again, stranger?" he hears her say. She tries to keep her tone light - mocking, even - but it does not fool him.

He pulls on his shirt and his trousers. Then, he reaches into one of the pockets and turns around to face her again. She is sitting up now, her hand pulling the sheet up to cover her nakedness.

"Heera-" he begins.

She sighs. "Toss it here."

He throws the content of the pocket onto the bed. A photograph. Frayed and dated. She picks it up and stares at it.

"Recognise him?" Cassian asks. He bends down to grab his boots from the floor and begins pulling them on.

"More than twenty Imperial officers come into the cantina everyday."

"And you notice everyone of them."

She frowns. Her dark hair tumbles around her face as she finally nods vigorously.

"Yes, I remember now. Was here two weeks ago. Didn't come up to the bar though."

"Who did he meet with?"

"Bulba from Sector Seven and a couple of Kabul's lowlives."

"For how long?"

Heera shrugs. "Twenty? Thirty minutes? Not too long."

He laces up his boots and takes the photograph back.

"Thank you."

"That's it?" She looks disappointed. Hurt, even.

"That's it."

He pulls on his jacket. He should offer her a smile, he thinks. A reassuring one. Something to keep her hoping. But he is tired, weary, aching for the comforts of his ship and the company of Kay-too. So the result turns out to be something of a grimace. A consolation prize more than a sweet farewell.

"I'll see you next time, okay?" he says.

She doesn't reply right away. Only when he reaches the door and opens it that he catches her words.

"Do you sleep with all your female informants? Is this how you keep us all in line?"

He pretends not to hear and he doesn't pause on his way out.

* * *

He comes back again, but this time, a year later.

She does not meet his eye until he sits down at the bar. She keeps him waiting; she serves all her customers except him. But when she finally makes her way over from the other end of the counter, she comes with his usual drink.

"Hello, stranger," she says.

"Hello, Heera."

Cassian has changed from the last time they met. His hair is longer, his beard thicker, his cheeks more hollowed, and his eyes more drawn out. But from the way she looks at him, he does not think she minds at all.

"I'm surprised you're still alive," she tells him.

"Just barely."

"How long has it been? Nine months?"

"A year."

Again, she knows, but pretends not to. She smiles.

"Ah. Thank you for keeping track, handsome."

He taps at the empty glass that he's just drained and says, "More."

* * *

Again, he ends up in her bed. Like he has intended to. Like he has planned to, really. This time, he takes his time, prolongs it, savours it. She'll appreciate it, he knows, and that's why he does it. He has discovered that by keeping them wanting and needing more works best for his missions.

There should be some sweetness to it, he thinks. A sense of quiet, joyous desperation. But he feels nothing. Afterwards, she lies limply in his arms, but smiling contently. A foreign smile, one he has never seen before.

"I missed you," she whispers against his skin.

He lies there for a few minutes longer and when she begins to drift off to sleep, he slips out of the bed. He hears her soft laughter as he begins to pull on his clothes.

"Leaving again?"

"Have places to get to. Things to do."

"What do you want this time?"

He begins lacing up his boots, his back still turned to her.

"Anyone came through that would be interesting to me?"

She hesitates.

"Interesting how?"

"Desperate. Skilful. Smart. Has connections."

He can almost feel her thinking, the wheels of her brain whirring ferociously. Finally, she says, "There's a boy about eight. Lives in the lower sections. Number twelve, I think. Stormtroopers just locked up his mother for giving shelter to some extremists. He is in the wind, I hear, but just between me and you, he comes into the kitchens late every Saturday night for leftovers. You'd like him."

"Why would I?" asks Cassian, pulling on his jacket and turning back to face her.

"He reminds me of you."

He frowns, interested despite himself. "How?"

"Angry. Lonely." She shrugs. "Does not seem to care when he lies."

He disregards her last sentence and instead tells her: "I'd track him down. See if he's useful. Thanks, Heera."

"You know," she says, standing up and letting the sheet slip away from her, "I, too, have places I want to get to. Things I want to do. I can't always be here for you."

She does not seem defiant as she utters those words. Just sad. He leans in and kisses her - firmly, fervently, as passionately as he knows how.

"Yes, you will be, Heera. Yes, you will be."

* * *

The next time they meet, Cassian is in a hurry. He shows up later then usual, just a few minutes before the place shuts for the night. He is impatient, frustrated, his shoulders slouched as he stands and waits in a corner for her to close up. When she finally comes to him, he does not wait for her usual greeting. He takes her by the hand and drags her upstairs, pass the closed up rooms and board-up windows and straight into her bed.

"How long has it been?" she gasps between their kisses.

"Eleven months," he mutters, tearing at her clothes.

"Really? I lost count."

Her fingers are hungry as they dive into his hair. He can feel her nails as she drags them across his face, his neck, his naked back. This time, they do not make love. He takes her quickly, desperately, with pent-up anger as she wraps her legs around him and urges him on. Then, when it is over, she rolls away from him and he realises that she is now crying. Not silently, but with wrecking, painful sobs that she has to cover the sound with her hand.

"Heera-"

"Go. Leave."

He does not know what to do. He is not stupid; he has known since forever that she feels this way about him. But ever since he has recruited her, she has always tried her best to hide the truth from him.

"I don't have much time," he finds himself saying eventually.

She laughs. A bitter, hollow sound. She turns around to face him. The sobs have subsided now, but he can still see quiet tears streaking down her cheeks.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" she asks.

He stares at her and she stares back. Finally, he sighs and begins to sit up.

"Heera-"

"I'm getting married."

He barely pauses. "Congratulations."

"Don't you want to know who it is?"

He picks up his shirt from the floor and pulls it on. "Who?"

She laughs again. "An imperial officer in his forties. So low down in the food chain, he wouldn't even be on your stupid radar."

"I doubt that."

He finishes getting dressed and turns back to her. She has stopped crying now and she is sitting up. Her hair is disheveled and undone, cascading down around her face. For one small moment, he has a desire to run his hand through it one last time, feel its softness and roughness between his fingers. But, as he said, he does not have the time, and he has never been one for sentiments.

He picks up his jacket, reaches into its pocket and draws out a photograph. Almost automatically, she reaches out to take it. She stares at it longer than she usually does. The woman in the picture stares back.

"She's pretty," Heera remarks softly. "But I guess you already noticed that."

He pretends not to hear and pulls the jacket on.

"She goes by the name of Lianna Hallik."

She lifts an eyebrow curiously. "Goes by? What is her real name then?"

"Her real name is not your concern. So…have you seen her?"

She hesitates, then says, "Came in yesterday. Almost caused a riot."

"A riot?" He fails to hide the intrigue in his voice.

"Got into a fight with some of the regulars from Sector Four. Bloodied the bastard Davin and made off with some of his prized propellers."

"You think she's still around?"

"Hard to say. But check the docking bay or the black market over at Three. She might be trying to sell those propellers there."

Cassian reaches over and takes back the photograph. He stares at it again, like he has done countless times since he first received it on the base at Yavin 4. 'Lianna Hallik'. Dark-eyed. Sullen. Resolute. Burning with some unexplainable _need._

Heera's voice brings him back. "Who is she?"

"Nobody." He stows the photograph back inside his jacket. "Just a mission."

She looks like she wants to say something else. To contradict him, maybe. But then, she doesn't. Instead, she stands up, letting the sheet slip away from her again.

"There are always missions with you, aren't there?"

He can deny it, but it will be a lie, and he has lied to her enough already. So he decides to say nothing at all.

She smiles. "Next time, I won't be here."

"Heera-"

She presses a finger to his lips. "I know you're going to say that I will be. But, no, not this time." She shakes her head, slowly, sadly. Something new and painful and beautiful dances in her eyes. "I really won't be. Not anymore. So, now, do you have to get rid of me?"

"Get rid of you?"

Her gaze slips down to his waist where his blaster hangs.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head. "No. Not you."

She smiles again. "What a way to make a girl feel special."

He should say that she is. Special, smart, beautiful…all of it. But he can't bring himself to. What is the point, he wonders?

"Farewell, stranger," she says. "I hope you find Lianna Hallik, whoever she is, and leave me be. Don't die anytime soon."

He cannot even find it within himself to smile back. Instead, he squeezes her hand. Maybe the gesture will make her understand. But somehow, he doubts that it will.

She is still standing there, looking at him, as still as stone, when he leaves.

.

.

.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _I know that introducing an original character can be tricky, but Heera just came to me out of no where. Don't worry, Cassian is not in love with her! I always imagined that the 'bad things' Cassian has done for the rebellion are not just murder and espionage, but also "lie-back-and-think-of-England" things. This story is the first in a series about Jyn and Cassian almost crossing paths while the Alliance searches for Lianna Hallik. I'm sorry that this one is Jyn-less, but I like to think that the presence of the Lianna Hallik photograph already weighs heavily on Cassian._

 _The next story in the series will be called "The Thief and Her Partner" and it will be told from Jyn's perspective._

 _Let me know what you thought!_


End file.
